


& that was the last time Jacob Black played Ms. Pac Man

by garbanzosoprese



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Lowkey cute, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbanzosoprese/pseuds/garbanzosoprese
Summary: LSC hates FUQ & Embry Call loves Jacob.
Kudos: 6





	& that was the last time Jacob Black played Ms. Pac Man

“I could just unplug it, y’know.”

Embry and Jake jerked away from the game to frown at Quil, mouths hanging open. With ghosts swamping her on all sides, Ms. Pac Man died from the distraction. Game Over. 

Quil shrugged.

Jake muttered his final score like a curse, batting the greasy red joystick away with a _thwip_. His eyes followed the arcade attendant into the back room before he spoke again. “Unplug it? Seriously? We’re out here busting our balls tryna get LSC off the hi-score and you wanna just unplug the machine?"

“Yeah dude, don’t even suggest something like that,” Embry said, depositing his quarter in the machine. “That’s bad karma.”

Quil gripped the frame of the machine harder, leaned in. “ _Karma_? Some punk keeps shoving us off the leaderboard and you’re saying it’s bad karma to want a blank slate?” Quil shifted the weight on his feet and glanced behind him. “Look. The outlet’s right there. All I gotta do is hop over the counter. Plug out, plug in. Easy.”

Embry mashed the start button, as if this would be the time he could skip Ms. Pac Man’s annoying 8-bit song. He shook his head. “You’re just mad cuz you think LSC replaced your name on the leaderboard with FUQ.” 

“’Think’? Buddy, I _know_. F-U-Q, are you kidding me?”

Jake's sly smile lit up his eyes. A laugh hung on his lips, but when he looked to Embry’s disapproving glare, he slapped Quil’s chest and said instead, “C’mon, dude. Let’s not. I’ll get it on the next go. Bad sportsmanship, unplugging the machine.”

“FUQ is bad sportsmanship!” Quil argued, but Jake and Embry shook their heads, swapping jokes in snickers. He huffed. “And it’s not a sport. It’s a game.”

“Sure, sure. Bad _games_ manship. Whatever.”

“Why don’t you just get better?” said Embry, hitting the powerpellet and chasing after blue ghosts.

Quil's lips twisted and pursed. “I’m pretty goddamn good.”

“Half the time you can’t even crack a hundred thousand points.”

Jake laughed. The sound it stole the breath from Embry’s chest; he blushed. Quil’s frown lines deepened, side-eyeing them.

“Okay, first of all, I’ve made it to the leaderboard without you chumps, alright? I’m pretty goddamn good. And second, like—” Quil leaned closer to Embry, voice lowered. “These machines lose power all the time. Galaga over there’s got a twenty-three thousand hi-score. You’re gonna sit here and tell me no one can crack twenty-three thousand? Please. I could beat that with both hands tied behind my back.”

“Then get the fuck away from me and do it,” said Embry, pushing Quil’s face with his hand. He bumped the joystick coming back to position. Ms. Pac Man jerked left and died at Blinky’s touch.

“Tch. Waste,” Embry muttered. With Quil gone, he suicided the rest of Ms. Pac Man’s lives. “Jake, you want another round? If anyone’s gonna break LSC today, it’s you.” 

Jake shrugged but set down his soda and approached the machine with a smile, mashing the start button. “Sure, yeah. One last game.” When Embry looked up into his best friend’s face, a blush bloomed across his cheeks. “Feels like one of those kinda days, doncha think?” Jake flexed his hand and grinned, illustrating his point. 

Embry inhaled to even his fluttering heart. “Dude, yeah. Sometimes the magic’s there. That’s what I’m sayin.” And with Jake’s attention turned to the screen, Embry’s eyes could fall onto those smiling lips. Just until the heat began to rise inside him. 

The boys played in near silence, nudging each other and muttering comments back and forth. As the game became speedy and chaotic, their voice grew louder. (“Grab that pretzel;” “Can’t get Blinky off my back, dude;” “Pinky’s in the gutter.”). Embry inched closer to Jake as the minutes slipped by and the score ticked up, up up...

Just as their shoulders brushed, as Ms. Pac Man hit Clyde, the screen flickered black. 

_Black_ black.

In the reflection of the machine’s lifeless screen stood a wide-eyed Jake still holding the joystick, and Embry, hands twisted in his hair, wearing the same aghast expression. Frozen.

Embry was the first to speak. “Dude!”

Quil shushed Embry’s spluttering, hopping back over the counter and darting back to the machine. His eyes glanced around the near-empty arcade while Embry still stood shocked. “Dude _what_?” 

Jake, meanwhile, just nodded, all emotion drained from his face. “Cheating coms. Clyde wasn’t anywhere near me.” He could still feel the energy in the joystick, in his fingertips. That could’ve been it. That could’ve been the hi-score. He could feel it in the bones of his fingers, the flesh of his palms. Perfectly greased, perfectly caffeinated, perfect, perfect, it would’ve been _perfect_ — 

“Dude. ‘What?’ _Karma._ ”

When the screen flickered to life, Jake flinched from the machine, sweat cooling on his joystick hand. “I…I need a drink.” Stumbling, he plopped down at their table, shook out his ponytail, and sloshed a refill of Dr. Pepper into his plastic cup. He curled over his soda, head in his hands. _It woulda been perfect._

“Anyway, what the hell d’you keep going on about karma for?” said Quil, talking over the sound of Embry jamming quarters into the coin slot. “You don’t even believe in karma. D’you even know what karma is?”

“Karma’s a swift kick in the ass, is what it is. And it’s the least you deserve.”

“All those quarters, gone,” Jake moaned to himself, “just to get killed by stupid, dumb Clyde.” 

Embry continued like there’d been no interruption. He jerked the joystick back and forth while he snapped to Quil, “You wanna know why I keep going on about karma?”

“Cuz you wanna believe all the jerks in the world are gonna get their asses kicked for doing bad shit?”

“No, you dumbass idiot. Because we _will_ get our asses kicked. LSC is Leah and Seth Clearwater.” Quil’s face fell. Jake slumped further over his drink. “Yeah. Didn’t think about that one, didja? And you know she’s gonna know it was us, right? You know she’ll hunt us down over state lines to kick our asses? Unless we can crack two thirty-three thousand before she and him come back to play, we’re screwed.”

“Oh,” said Quil, face smoothening. He nodded. _FUQ_ , _huh?_ “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Tch. Makes real fuckin’ sense, huh.” Embry gritted his teeth, mashing the button as if he could skip the cutscene’s stupid song. “You done did it now. Y’know what? JEQ is done. From now ‘til forever, I’m entering FUQ. Believe it.” 

“Chill, man, it's fine. We got this.” Quil nabbed a handful of quarters from Embry’s torn plastic baggy and shoved them in Player 2′s coin slot. “We’ll two-player it. Quick and easy.” He rapped his knuckles on the console. “Jakey baby, c’mon. Up to bat. Tag-team with Embry, let’s go.” 

And in a glance between them, Quil gave Embry a soft look: a small, knowing, encouraging smile. 

Blinking and blushing, Embry sneaked a peek at Jake.

He said, not looking up, “Nah, not this time,” still looming over his drink. Carbonation climbed to the lip of his cup, popped, rippled the soda’s surface. “I’m retiring, dudes. I’m done.”

Silence. "What, and let Leah bury us in a shallow grave? No, dude. Retire after. We got work to do. C’mon, are you gonna help Embry or not?”

Jake, cracking a smile, looked up. "Sure, sure,” he said, draining his cup.


End file.
